Mercy lifted her eyebrows. “I don’t even get to see my cabin?”
“Sure you can,” Dutch said, then spoke to Travis. “If she’s going to be here for several months, we should at least show it to her.”
Travis tightened his jaw, but didn’t correct Dutch on his slip of the tongue.
“It’s the one on the left.” Dutch swung his arm toward the cabin with the trash bags out front. “We were just cleaning it up.”
Mercy nodded, not bothering to look. His abs were amazing. So sculpted she could count each one. “Greg was a real pig, huh?”
Travis muttered. “Wait till you see the saloon’s kitchen.”
He really wanted to get rid of her, not allowing anything to happen between them. Unwilling to settle for that, Mercy dug in her heels. “I’m sure I’ll live.”
Travis put out his hand. “Keys.”
She looked at him dumbly. “To what?”
“The pickup. So I can pull it closer to the cabin. Wouldn’t want Dutch getting a hernia hauling your stuff across the lot.”
Dutch shot Travis a look then slung his arm around Mercy’s shoulders. Her knees bent slightly from its wonderful weight, his arousing fragrance.
“Don’t you worry,” he murmured to her. “No one’s getting hurt here. Right, buddy?”
The two men exchanged a glance Mercy couldn’t begin to interpret. Without comment, Travis pulled the check from his waistband, shoved it in his front pocket, and strode to the pickup.
Luckily, the keys were in the ignition. If they hadn’t been, Travis figured he might have stormed back to Dutch and slugged the bastard.
What in the fuck was the matter with him? Hadn’t they agreed that neither of them would come on to Mercy no matter what she did? That included her showing up in an outfit that made Travis’s balls twitch, along with pushing her hand into his jeans, her baby–soft fingers stopping just shy of his goddamn cock.
The stupid thing was still so rigid he couldn’t get comfortable. Feeling everyone’s eyes on him, especially Mercy’s, Travis refused to adjust himself in the seat.
She’d claimed he didn’t know what she wore away from work. Not even close to true. A few times he’d seen her leaving the grocery store or entering one of the fast food joints. Never had she decked herself out like today. Her lips glossy and red as though she’d just bitten into a juicy strawberry. Smoky green makeup around her eyes. Hair falling in silky curls to her breasts.
The splash of freckles across her nose, that straw hat and those cowgirl boots all super cute.
Killing his smile, Travis drove past her and the others, the tires kicking up a shitload of dust.
The ladies coughed and swatted air. Dutch led the way to Greg’s old cabin.
Travis noticed how Mercy dragged behind, getting an eyeful of the tat on Dutch’s back. Her cheeks pinked up even more. The girl with her practically drooled.
New rule. Everyone living here had to be dressed at all times.
Travis slammed the pickup’s door and went around to the bed.
Mercy reached it just as he did. “Can you hand me the cooler?” She pointed to it.
She’d painted her nails the same shade as her lips. He recalled her finger in his mouth, how good the frosting and her skin had tasted. A sudden shock of heat spread from Travis’s belly to his crotch.
“There’s a fridge inside, right?” she asked.
It took him a moment to catch up. He nodded. “Your own private bath too.” Just in case she’d planned to use the one in Dutch’s cabin or his, driving both of them over the edge.
“Thanks.” She took the cooler from him and pulled out a single–wrapped Popsicle. Cherry–flavored. “Want one?”
Travis’s answer died in his throat at her tongue snaking around the tip of the pop. She worked the treat between her lips, in and out, as she would a man’s stiffened rod. Unable to speak, he shook his head.
Mercy licked the corners of her mouth, her tongue stained scarlet. “If you do later, go ahead and take as many as you want. Sure is hot today.”
His damn underwear was practically smoking.
After giving him another smile, she followed her girlfriend to the cabin. Like a lovesick puppy, Travis followed, staring at Mercy’s plush ass, the backs of her thighs. All that pale, smooth skin had him breathing hard.
She stopped. He couldn’t, at least not quickly enough, and bumped into her, his cock snuggled against her butt. Mercy looked over, submission in her eyes, a drop of Popsicle juice on her lower lip.
It glittered in the afternoon light, inviting him to taste its sweetness, the cushiony comfort of her mouth.
With a shitting lot of willpower, Travis stepped back, letting Mercy lick her lip before he did.
On a sigh, she turned from him and considered the cabin’s interior again. Bright and clean, smelling of disinfectant and Febreze. He and Dutch had worked on the damn place for hours.
“Wow. This is really nice.” Mercy touched the wooden bedframe, small kitchen set, and freshly washed curtains as though they were made of gold.
Travis wondered what she would think of his old place in one of San Francisco’s most exclusive high rises, or his parents’ many mansions. He’d willingly walked away from so much when she hadn’t had the choice. Rotten luck had caused her to be alone, to work at Fast Fill and here in order to take care of herself.
Mercy didn’t seem to mind or care about money at all. In that they were so alike, making Travis admire and like her even more.
She offered a grateful smile. “You did an awesome job.”
“Way better than Carl would have,” the girl with her gushed, then added, “I’m Jill by the way. Carl’s my guy. That’s his pickup you drove,” she said to Travis. “Thanks for not hitting anything with it.”
Dutch chuckled.
Mercy gave him and her friend a disapproving look. “Travis wasn’t driving that fast. He’s just in a hurry to get me moved in. Do you have plans later?” She spoke to him and Dutch. “Either of you? Am I interfering?”
Travis had thought about calling one of the women he knew, maybe grab a pizza, catch a movie, screw until they were both raw then call it a night. “Nope. Dutch probably does.”
“I don’t,” he said immediately, and smiled at Mercy. “We’re all yours.”
She nodded slowly and licked the length of her Popsicle.
Travis’s throat constricted. He cleared it and said, “After we bring in your things, we’ll set up the ground rules for this arrangement.” He gestured to Dutch. “Let’s go.”
When they reached the pickup’s bed, Dutch spoke quietly. “Ground rules? You mean her hours of work. What she’s supposed to do.”
“Yeah, along with you keeping your jeans zipped and wearing a damn shirt when she’s around.”
“Like you’re doing? Oh wait, you’re not.”
“I didn’t wrap my arm around her.”
“It was a friendly gesture. Hell, I do the same with my grandmother. It’s not a felony.”
Travis lowered his voice even more, so Mercy wouldn’t overhear. “You’re actually going to fuck around with her. You don’t give a goddamn about her getting hurt.”
“Who the fuck said she’s going to be hurt? We set the ground rules, just like you told her. That means fun and nothing more, exactly like millions of other people do all the time. She sure as hell looks as though she’s ready to play, or didn’t you notice the way she’s sucking that damn Popsicle?” Dutch grinned then sobered. “Not to mention what she’s wearing. If she agrees that this is just a diversion for all of us, no strings, what’s the fucking problem? We’re all adults. She’s of age. It’s her decision. You can’t stop her. Why in the hell would you want to? I’ve seen you with other women. You’ve never been such a hardass before.”
Because those women hadn’t looked at him as Mercy had so often in the past. Not sexy or vaguely predatory, but in wonder. As though he made the world spin and had done a pissing good job of it.
Dutch’s eyes rounded. He whispered. “Who said I was going to use her? We’ll all agree–”
“Until we don’t,” Travis interrupted. “Think you could turn away from her then without any regret? Think you’d be able to live with yourself once you’ve hurt her? Haven’t you seen the awe in her eyes? You honestly can use what she feels to get what you want and tell yourself that’s all right?”
Not when he put it that way. Dutch felt like a goddamn bastard, and he hadn’t even done anything with Mercy yet, except in his mind. This was nuts. Travis had to be overreacting. Dutch whispered, “You’re sure she thinks we’re that special? It isn’t possible you’re only imagining it?”
“Look at her eyes instead of her damn tits and ass. Pay attention to how she looks at you. Like you can hang the damn moon, when all you’re doing is breathing.”
Dutch grunted at the two pieces of luggage Travis had tossed at him. With one under each arm, he tramped into Mercy’s cabin.
Her cheeks flushed in what appeared to be pleasure. Happiness glittered in her eyes.
Because she liked the way they’d fixed things up. She was simply appreciative. “Where do you want this?” He hefted the luggage beneath his arms.
She stared at his nipples, then swung her finger to the right. “Over there’s fine.”
He dropped her stuff near the table. Mercy smiled as though he’d given her a priceless gift.
Dutch turned away. Either she was merely being gracious, or Travis was right. This wouldn’t be about sex for her. She did think he and Travis were more than either of them could ever be. Uncertain, Dutch mumbled, “I’ll bring the rest of your stuff in.”
In no time at all, he and Travis had her set up. Jill hugged Mercy goodbye and took off, leaving the three of them alone.
Outside the cabin, birds squawked, leaves rustled, a few cars whooshed by. In here, no one said anything. Mercy divided her attention between him and Travis, her adoration obvious.
Damn. How had he missed it before? Dutch rubbed the back of his neck, his muscles aching with tension.
Travis cleared his throat. “There’s stuff we have to go over.”
“Stuff?” Mercy stepped closer. “Like the ground rules you’d mentioned?”
Suddenly, Dutch didn’t want to hear them. Her lips fascinated him. The Popsicle had made them unbelievably red. Were they now cold on the outside, while her mouth was hot and wet?
“Yeah,” Travis said, then hesitated, obviously searching for the right way to tell her there wouldn’t be any fun here.
Unwilling to hear that, Dutch dropped his hand and blurted, “What you’ll be doing in the kitchen.” He spoke to Travis. “We should show it to her.”
Travis looked uncertain, then finally nodded. “Sure. We’ll start with that.”
They walked side by side to the saloon, Mercy between them. A gust of wind caught her hat, pulling it off. Dutch chased the hat across the lot and handed it back to her. She beamed. He smiled, then sobered, keeping his distance. Walking behind her.
Lord, what an ass she had. Dutch had always liked meat on women, something to hold onto while he drove himself into their sweet, hot depths.
But not hers. Too risky, just as Travis had said.
Dutch pushed his X–rated thoughts from his mind and followed them into the saloon. A large room with scuffed wood floors, battered tables, a long bar with stools, conical lights hanging overhead, neon beer signs on the walls, and a lone pool table. Simple surroundings for an unassuming clientele.
Mercy seemed more impressed than she should have been, craning her neck to take in what little there was.
When she saw the kitchen, her hand went to her chest. Grease spatters and unwashed pans decorated the small, dingy space.
“Greg took off kind of fast,” Travis explained.
“Something about an outstanding warrant,” Dutch added. “He usually cleaned up after himself.”
She made a face at the inside of the stove. “When was the last time he really cleaned this?”
Dutch lifted his shoulders, feeling bad for her.
Sighing, she regarded the snug surroundings. Space enough for two. With three, it was crowded as hell, everyone practically on top of each other. The air too thick and charged. At least for Dutch. Mercy had pulled in her arms to avoid anything grimy, which plumped her breasts and deepened her cleavage.
Dutch’s legs went unsteady.
“Let me change and get my cleaning stuff,” she said. “I’ll have this place sparkling in no time.”
Travis didn’t step out of her way. “About what you’re wearing.”
“It’s really cute,” Dutch said, the words falling out of his mouth.
Mercy perked up. Travis frowned. “You can’t wear that around here.”
Surprise then confusion flickered across her face. “You mean while I cook.”
“I mean anywhere on the property.”
A flash of offense crowded out her first response. “Why?” She regarded her outfit. “What’s wrong with it?”
Nothing as far as Dutch was concerned.
Travis sighed. “When guys start drinking, they stop using their heads.”
Her slender eyebrows shot up. “They’re going to be drinking in my cabin? In the woods surrounding it? In my car?”
Dutch snickered.
Travis shot him a look then turned to her. “Of course not. But I don’t want you traipsing around here dressed like that.”
“Traipsing? Like I have all the time in the world, not two jobs?”
“Look, it’s my place,” he said. “And those are the rules.”
She spoke to Dutch. “What did Greg wear when he cooked?”
Dutch tried to recall. “Ah, jeans and an undershirt.”
“Want me to wear that?” she asked Travis. “Or would a burka be better?”
Dutch laughed.
Travis frowned. “I don’t want anyone attacking you.”
“Because I’m your employee?” she asked. “Or because they might find me attractive?”
Travis screwed up his mouth as though he’d tasted something shitty. “Because you’ll get hurt.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Until you can’t,” he countered.
“What if I want to attack them?” She looked from him to Dutch and back. “Is that allowed?”
“You mean because you’re only looking for a good time?” Dutch asked. “Nothing permanent? No strings?”
“Sure. Isn’t that what makes the world go ’round?”
Not according to Travis, at least when it came to her. Dutch looked at his friend, his expression saying, ’Hey fool, you were wrong.’
Or at least misguided. There was still that hint of worship about Mercy. However, she was proving to be as practical as they were. Looking for fun. Happy to settle for that.
Until she wasn’t.
Fuck. Travis’s warning still echoed in Dutch’s mind.
Travis mumbled, “Dress appropriately. That’s all I ask. And stay out of trouble. I’ve got enough shit to handle without having to rescue you.”
Her sass evaporated. She looked so hurt Dutch had to stop himself from hugging her, and risk all hell breaking loose.
“Don’t worry, you won’t,” she murmured. “Let me get my stuff so I can clean this place.”
Travis finally stepped out of her way. Mercy stopped, then turned back to him. “Thanks for letting me stay.” On her tiptoes, she cupped his face and brushed her lips over his.
Dutch gaped.
She hushed to Travis. “I really appreciate it.”
Before he could say anything or start breathing again, she moved into Dutch, cupp
ing his face. His cock shot to attention at her feathery touch, his lids sliding down. Her lips weren’t cold as he’d imagined, but soft and achingly warm. She smelled of something flowery and feminine. Alluring as hell.
“Thanks for helping me move my stuff in,” she whispered to him, then left the kitchen and saloon, heading to her cabin.
Chapter Three
Travis rolled over in bed and groaned at the burst of pain between his shoulders. He’d strained too many muscles scouring the saloon’s kitchen. Making it spotless enough for Mr. Clean’s mother.
He’d insisted upon it, so had Dutch, neither of them allowing Mercy to lift a finger.
They’d worked out their sexual frustration on the counters, stove, walls, and floor, slamming things and swearing until screwing was the furthest thing from their minds.
She’d startled Travis with her kiss, which had seemed strangely natural, as though they should always part that way. Her comment about wanting nothing except a good time was also a surprise. Not that Travis believed her. He couldn’t. Even if Mercy was willing to keep their relationship purely fun, he wasn’t so certain he could stop at that.
She’d done something to him in the last hours. Forcing him to notice her finally. Recognize the promise in her eyes and touch. Turning him inside out.
Making him want too much.
On the way back to his cabin he’d passed hers, just to be certain everything was all right. A heavenly aroma had stopped Travis. Something chocolaty and rich that reminded him of Christmas as a kid. His parents’ staff making enough to feed several families.
He’d remembered then about the cupcakes Mercy had to bake to fill a morning order. She’d shown him and Dutch the website she’d designed to sell her stuff.
It might as well have been her first–born, she was that proud.
A wave of tenderness had hit Travis so hard, he’d wanted to sling his arm around her shoulders and give her a huge hug.
He’d stopped himself from knocking on her front door, asking to come inside.
Brought to His Knees-Tough Guys Laid Low By Love Page 86